and would fain have a momentary relief by gazing on something less splendid.
SERENADE .
LOOK out upon the stars, my love, And shame them with thine eyes, On which, than on the lights above, There hang more destinies. Nights beauty is the harmony Of blending shades and light ; Then, lady, up,-look out, and be A sister to the night !Sleep not !--thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast : Sleep not !-from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay With looks, whose brightness well might make Of darker nights a day. In direct contrast to Pinkney, let us take up Charles Fenno Hoffman. This gentleman has written many fine songs, and seems to have written them much as Pinkney wrote his, for both writers evince artistic skill to a high degree in their lyrics. But Pinkney has soared to a height to which Hoffman has yet to aspire. The former has nearly, some would say altogether attained that point in at where art seems nature ; and accordingly, united to much ornateness in detail, we have as the general effect, in Pinkney's songs, a chaste and severe simplicity. As Démosthenes was to other orators so is Pinkney to other song writers. Hoffman, on the contrary, betrays his art in every line ; and although there is a freedom in his songs as if they were written con amore, yet that freedom walks in jewelled apparel, and regulates her steps according to the last lesson of the dancing master. There is no such thing as simplicity in Hoffman's songs. They are all " sparkling and bright" as the wine he loves to commemorate, or the bright eyes it is his delight to extol. He resembles Moore in many things, but we question if he produces his songs with the labor and time of his master. Hoffman has caught his style from reading the " Irish Melodies," rather than the songs of Herrick, and he writes unconsciously after the more bastard style of the former. There is too much obtrusive epigrammatic turn, too much mock sentiment, too much of what we should call balderdash about the songs of Hoffman. Yet he has written many fine lyrics. In some of his better moments he has soared to the atmosphere of Waller, but he has soon returned with drooping and wearywing. We like best those of his lyrics which relate to war and wine- in his songs to the other sex he speaks after too mincing a fashion. But for the songs. And first we will give one of his gayest. SPARKLING AND BRIGHT . SPARKLING and bright in liquid light Does the wine our goblets gleam in, With hue as red as the rosy bed Which a bee would choose to dream in.
Then fill to-night with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. O! if Mirth might arrest the flight Of Time through Life's dominions, We here a while would now beguile The graybeard of his pinions, To drink to-night with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. But since delight can't tempt the wight, Nor fond regret delay him, Nor Love himself can hold the elf, Nor sober Friendship stay him, We'll drink to -night with hearts as light, To loves as gay and fleeting As bubbles that swim on the beaker's brim, And break on the lips while meeting. After a song on wine what is more appropriate than one on war; and here is " The Myrtle and Steel." THE MYRTLE AND STEEL .
ONE bumper yet, gallants, at parting, One toast ere we arm for the fight ; Fill round, each to her he loves dearest"Tis the last he may pledge her, to-night. Think of those who of old at the banquet Did their weapons in garlands conceal, The patriot heroes who hallowed The entwining of myrtle and steel ! Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! "Tis in moments like this, when each bosom With its highest-toned feeling is warm, Like the music that's said from the ocean To rise ere the gathering storm, That her image around us should hover, Whose name, though our lips ne'er reveal, We may breathe mid the foam of a bumper, As we drink to the myrtle and steel. Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! Now mount, for our bugle is ringing To marshal the host for the fray, Where proudly our banner is flinging Its folds o'er the battle-array ; Ye gallants-one moment-remember, When your sabres the death-blow would deal, That MERCY wears her shape who's cherish'd By lads of the myrtle and steel. Then hey for the myrtle and steel, Then ho for the myrtle and steel, Let every true blade that e'er loved a fair maid, Fill round to the myrtle and steel ! We were about to pass on, but we will give one more; and let it be " Rosalie Clare"-a friend beside us insisting that it is one of the finest of Hoffman's songs. It sounds to us too much a la Lochinvar. ROSALIE CLARE . WHO Owns not she's peerless, who calls her not fair, Who questions the beauty of ROSALIE CLARE ? Let him saddle his courser and spur to the field, And, though harness'd in proof, he must perish or yield ; For no gallant can splinter, no charger may dare The lance that is couch'd for young ROSALIE Clare.
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